


Chosen

by taichara



Category: Fire Emblem: Seisen no Keifu | Fire Emblem: Genealogy of the Holy War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-04-18 19:14:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14219898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taichara/pseuds/taichara
Summary: Perhaps Thracia's king is not the only patient one.That won't put off his plans for the future.





	Chosen

Well this was not at all what he'd expected.

Nonplussed, Travant eased back a single step from the hearth; not from fear of simple flames, oh no, but out of wary acknowledgement of the tickle of eldritch cold that danced across his nerves like frozen fire the moment he'd reached towards his prize.

Over the hearthstone, on great bronze hooks like clutching talons, Gae Bolg hung.

He claimed -- and he did not lie -- to his children -- yes, to _both_ \-- that when the time came, that blood-stained lance would go to its proper bearer even as Gungnir would leave his own hands in time.

And Travant intended to keep his word.

Altena was as wily and stubborn as any born to true Thracian stock, quick-witted and iron-sinewed. Already she was well on her way to taming her chosen drake to saddle and bit -- he'd not have a whelp in his household who could not ride -- and in all ways she was his daughter as much as Arion was his son.

But the damned thing _knew_.

He cast a baleful glance at the glistening weapon still marked with its last bearer's heartblood.

It _knew_ that he was in no way its master; he never claimed to be. Gungnir was his birthright and he would accept no lesser weapon.

And yet, there was this unease, and -- all unbidden -- Travant felt certain, dead certain, that with every passing year that heart-clutching cold would sparked ever greater, ever watchful. Watching, waiting, when that lone day in the year marched by and Travant renewed his oaths, his plans, once again.

Gae Bolg knew.

Or perhaps something, some _one_ else did.

But it hardly mattered; Travant would not allow it to matter.

_Let_ the dead threaten him. 

The time would come regardless, and Altena would fly for Thracia's banner. Not even a harrowed weapon could deny its master --

_I won you in blood, and you'll spill more of it yet --_

_And she'll never know._

_Do you hear?_


End file.
